


Inizio

by Etheostoma



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: And then it ran away, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, Relationship Fix-It, This started out as a dabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 22:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13580253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etheostoma/pseuds/Etheostoma
Summary: “Yeah, well, you weren't exactly high in my good graces after I learned you has spent the better part of our relationship trying to incapacitate my son."Or, a post Season 2 AU reunion fic in which our favorite couple gets to hash it all out.





	Inizio

**Author's Note:**

> Context…..doesn't necessarily exist. I wanted a post-battle reunion scene but was too lazy (today) to write the lead-in, so at this point in time it has yet to exist. I'll get there eventually, I'm sure.
> 
> This actually started out much more drabble-y than what it became....it was a rainy, icy day here so what was supposed to be 2.5k words kinda sorta doubled on me. 
> 
> Title is Italian for "start" or "inception".

"You remember." It was not a question. His voice was low, hoarse, constricted with barely-restrained emotion and self-loathing.

"Yes." Her reply was soft, absolute in its certainty and unyielding.

He bowed his head in silent concession, eyes cast down. Bending at the waist, he reached to pick up a fallen knife, wincing as the movement jarred the long gouge on his side where one of Gunmar's minions had left its mark. The pain was a welcome distraction, a long-time friend to be embraced alongside the erratic thrum of his heart in his chest.

"Was it young Atlas?" As the flood of adrenaline gradually ebbed he gave in to the throb of his bruised and broken ribs and remained kneeling, marking the steady drip of blood from his side with a sense of vindictive contempt. Back turned to his unexpected companion, he stared resolutely at the craggy wall before him, refusing to allow himself the luxury of her presence.

"No," Barbara replied, her tone laced with a bitterness that he did not expect. Though she stood all the way on the other side of the cavern, Walter could feel the whisper of air as she shook her head. "Jim…Even though he promised--no." She gave a hollow laugh. "He wanted to protect me from…all this," she waved her hand to encompass the sprawling network of caves that held the remnants of Gunmar's army, now herded into small groups by Jim's forces and marching toward the cells of Trollmarket. "He wanted me safe, decided that my ignorance was better than being aware.." She bit her lip and brushed a sweaty hank of hair behind her ear, oblivious to the streak of grime that the motion left across her forehead.

Strickler's hands convulsed, as if to reach for her, draw her into his arms and share the pain of a son who had grown up before his time. He yearned to take away the violence and horror and all the trials the day had held, to offer comfort and compassion and a care that she had not known for far too long. Had it been a different time, he would have done just that, pressed a kiss to her hair and offered her comfort while murmuring words of reinforcement in her ears. Instead, he said nothing, remained kneeling before the woman who had so enslaved him, submissive before the sole source of all the humanity to which he could lay claim.

"But he had no right!" Barbara burst out suddenly, blue eyes flashing behind the bright lenses of her glasses. "He should understand, he should know after everything we've been through--my fate is mine! _No one_ makes my decisions for me. _Nobody_. If something is dangerous, I should have the right to know. If my son is risking his life day and night to protect another world, fighting beings much older and stronger than himself, _I have the right to know_." Her voice shook with barely-controlled emotion, hands balled up into fists at her sides.

"Barbara," he croaked, unable to mask the emotion that bled through into the single word, twisting at the hips as he tilted his head, eyes sliding upward to catch her in his piercing green gaze. "My dear…"

She turned those burning blue eyes upon him, the goddess Nemesis come to cast her sentence and see judgement meted out where it was due. "And are you any better, Walt?" she pressed, pupils dark against the molten blue flames in her irises. She spoke to cut, to wound, the words lashing out and cutting him more finely than any blade. 

He flinched back and bowed his head once more. He knew he wasn't better, knew he was in fact _worse--_ he didn't deserve even _this_ conversation from her, let alone any form of kindness or acknowledgement.

He never had.

His breath rasped in his lungs, wheezing out from behind ribs that had been bruised beneath the less-than-tender grip of a much larger troll. A hoarse chuckle rumbled up from his chest, a sound of absolute defeat and utterly devoid of humor. "We both know I'm worse," he whispered. "Everything you gave, you offered freely. I had designs and machinations--you were but the perfect cog in the machine."

He kept his voice hollow, willing the undeniable truth in his words to drown out the soul-wrenching pain that sat behind it. He had used her, yes, but in the process, she had become the single most important thing in his world. Everything he had done since leaving Trollmarket and Arcadia, every Changeling converted from Gunmar's side and every carefully-laid ploy against his forces enacted--it was all in the name of this remarkable woman who now stood before him.

She could never know that, though. She must remain ignorant of his affection, assume she had been but a pawn to him in all their affairs.

He did not flatter himself--any knowledge otherwise would not change her opinion of him. His heart was well-hardened to abhorrence and hatred, long-accustomed to being cast out and scorned. He was impure, a creature borne of hatred and distrust; he could face revulsion and animosity without flinching, even from her, even as much as it wrenched his heart. He deserved no better.

But, he did not think he could bear her pity.

He heard the scuff of sneakers against the stone floor of the cavern, the soft whisper of her scrubs as she crossed the expanse of grey stone that separated them. Walter wasn't sure what he expected--a death sentence, certainly, would be due, or even a slap across the face if nothing else--but it was certainly not the cool caress of her hand across his cheek. He inhaled sharply through his nose at the touch, the feel of her skin against his a balm he hadn't realized he so desperately needed.

"Liar," Barbara breathed, keeling down before him and tilting his face up to hers with the soft press of her hand beneath his chin. "You used me, Walter, but we both know it was--is--more than that." Her fingers traced the curve of his jaw. "When you left, when _Jim_  left, I was alone-- _all_ alone." She frowned, brow wrinkling as she thought back to those days. "It's hard to put together the puzzle when you are missing nearly all of the pieces."

The historian in him wanted to ask _how_  she had remembered, to question the why and when--but she was kneeling before him and offering him a touch he did not come close to deserving and he could barely think of the present let alone put a voice to his questions of the past.

"What I did was unforgivable, Barbara," he rasped, eyelids fluttering shut to mask the guilt that wracked his tortured gaze. "You've been hurt enough in the past--I had no right-"

"No, you didn't," she agreed, her palm still not moving from where it cupped his cheek. "But I'm a big girl, Walt, I can handle myself. You men all seem to think that you are responsible for my actions as well as your own--I hate to break it to you, but I don't do anything I don't _want_  to do."

That was enough to make him blink, flashing a startled green gaze at his companion. "But, you…you _wanted_  to forget," he argued, wincing as he recalled her parting words.

To her credit, Barbara flushed, her free hand rising to her neck in an awkward shrug. "Yeah, well, you weren't exactly high in my good graces after I learned you has spent the better part of our relationship trying to incapacitate my son." Her hand dropped to her side as she pinned him with an exasperated glare.

"Justifiably," he granted, then cocked his head, trying not to grimace as the motion tugged at strained tendons. "Though, if it's not out of my place to ask, may I inquire what changed?"

She leaned in and pressed her grime-streaked forehead against his, eyes meeting his in a look of utter seriousness. "You did, Walter." She slid her hands down to seize his where they hung limply at his sides, bringing them up between their chests and squeezing tightly. "After I…remembered, I talked to Jim. He told me what you did for him before he left to rescue Enrique--and everything you did that night you--we were injured." Her stern look softened into an indecipherable expression. "And then you came back and brought Jim hope. I think he'd resigned himself to being alone in this fight, and then you showed up with Nomura and a _plan_. He may be a man by trial, but at heart he's still a kid who wants something-- _someone_ \--to believe in. I think you fill that role." She quirked an eyebrow. "When you two aren't flinging knives at each other, that is."

Walter was floored. Prior to all of this--when he was simply Walter Strickler, history teacher, and Jim had yet to discover the amulet--he had hoped he filled at least the role of mentor for the boy. With the discovery that Jim was the Trollhunter, Strickler's worlds had collided with an unexpected and sickening crash, and everything he had previously known and believed had begun to crumble, breaking down around him one brick at a time.

The Trollhunter was an enemy. The Trollhunter was to be destroyed.

The Trollhunter was a _human_. The Trollhunter was a human _boy_.

The Trollhunter was  _Jim._

It had only gone downhill from there.

He wanted to argue, wanted to say that he was still the same detestable creature he had always been who deserved no love and gave none in return. Deep down, however, he knew she spoke the truth. He _had_  changed, had fallen in love with a human woman and grown to respect the Trollhunter and his companions, grown to care about the boy behind the armour who struggled with all the trials of youth in addition to the burdens he bore as the savior of Troll-kind.

So, instead, his lips quirked up in a small attempt at a smile, green eyes soft with a myriad of unvoiced emotions. "I suppose," he allowed, "I might have been of at least some minor assistance in the final confrontation."

That brought a huff of laughter to her lips. "A bit more than that, I think," she returned, quirking an eyebrow. Her expression slipped from amused to serious, the mirth sliding from her face as she scanned him up and down, assessing him with a doctor's exacting gaze. "You took a blow that would have _killed_  my son."

Gentle fingers reached out, probing the tender ribs beneath the sheltering arm he had wrapped protectively about his middle.

Walter winced and flinched backward, his face twisted in a grimace as he tried to stamp down his instinctive reaction to the pain. "It's nothing," he bit off from between gritted teeth. "Changelings--we heal quickly, I will be right as rain in a few days."

Barbara's eyes narrowed as her fingers came away stained red. "Bullshit," she declared, unable to mask the worry that threatened to overcome her professionalism as she probed his wound. "Walt, this is _deep._ " His eyes rolled up in his head as a line of white-hot agony flared from the wound, carving a burning line along his right side from his hip to just above his intercostals. A whine escaped from between pinched lips as her gentle hands poked and prodded the wound, careful not to agitate the torn skin more than they had to. "You've lost so much blood--we have to get you somewhere safe and stitched up, and off your feet--knees," she amended, eyes flicking down where he still knelt on the dusty floor of the cavern.

Shaking his head, Walter forced his eyes open. "No, no," he groaned, fighting back another wave of pain as the wound throbbed. He had managed to force the sensations into his subconscious while they spoke--an ability borne of many years of alternating torture and injury at the hands of Gunmar and his kin--but her direct acknowledgment of the injury brought all of the associated agony rushing back to the surface, a well that could not be stemmed. "I'll be fine, and you need to go to Jim."

She ignored him entirely and stripped off her scrub top, leaving herself in a simple white t-shirt. Deft hands seized the knife lying forgotten on the cavern floor beside him and began cutting the top into long strips. Reaching for his hand, she drew his arm away from where it was curled around the wound. He let her, driven to distraction by the warring sensations of her soothing grip and the expulsion of blood from his body with each beat of his traitorous human heart. It had been a blow intended to kill, and had it landed on its intended target it would have succeeded. Walter in his Changeling guise had a much thicker skin than Jim in his armour, and the boy had been facing another foe and entirely unaware of the attack coming from his unguarded side. It had really been the only option, and he regretted it not a single moment.

Barbara wadded the bulk of the material into a makeshift pad and secured it around the wound with the ties she had cut. "Come on," she gripped the arm of his uninjured side and heaved him to his feet, flinging the arm she held around her shoulder and wrapping her arm tightly about his side. "We've got to get you back to Arcadia to rest." At his questioning look she shrugged, his arm rising and falling with the motion. "From what Jim said, you aren't exactly the favored child around here."

His breath huffed in a startled laugh despite the pain. "That…would be putting it mildly," he drawled, biting back a groan as they passed over an uneven bump in the ground. The movement proved to be too much for himself, and he felt his legs giving out, arm slipping from around Barbara as he faltered and slid to the floor of the cavern. The room spun, going in and out of focus, and the last thing he heard before completely succumbed to the darkness stealing across the horizon was Barbara screaming his name, the cool feel of her hands against his face. Then his eyelids fluttered, and he knew no more.

\--

"…on the couch all night, Mom?" The incredulous adolescent voice cut through the thick haze of sleep blanketing Walter. He frowned as his mind struggled up from the depths of unconsciousness, struggling to regain his awareness of his surroundings.

"Don't be such a worrywart, Jim, I slept perfectly fine." That was Barbara's voice. He blinked, his surroundings gradually coming into focus around him. A small bedroom, sparsely decorated, really just a bed and a dresser and a few piles of unwashed hospital clothes--Barbara's room. He blinked again. It wasn't the first time he had been in this room, but he had also certainly ever expected to see it again. If he were being honest with himself, he hadn't expected to see _anything_  ever again. A Changeling's lifespan mirrored that of a full troll, and though Walter had the potential to live untold centuries longer, a Changeling's life also often ended in violence. He had truly thought--and _intended_ , if he were to be completely honest with himself--that the confrontation with Gunmar's army would be his end.

There was a pause downstairs, followed by a groan so filled with teenaged exasperation that Walter couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Not what I meant, Mom."

He could practically see Barbara's eyes narrow as she frowned down at her son. "Because Walter is upstairs in the bed."

Jim yelped. "What? But Mom--I know he's on our side, and he saved my life and everything, and-" He let the tirade die, and Walter imagined the Trollhunter-- _Jim_ \--was shaking his head. "You know what," and Walter's eyes widened imperceptibly at the resigned understanding and maturity woven into the words, "Never mind. He's not the same as he once was, and I  _know_ he makes you happy. He's tried to kill me a lot, but I guess I've kind of returned the favor, so…." He trailed off, and Walter could almost picture him running a hand through his messy hair as he thought. "Know what? I'm gonna go to Trollmarket for a while, okay? Blinky needs a ton of help with clean-up still, and we have to meet to decide what to do with all the Changelings who surrendered. You two sort things out, and I'll--well, I'll deal."

Barbara's muted agreement and accompanying words of caution were lost to Walter as he sat up in bed, the green sheets sliding down his chest to reveal a neat linen wrapping around the better part of his torso. He was bare from the waist up but for an amulet around his neck and appeared to be wearing a pair of his own pajama pants underneath the covers. His wound throbbed in time with his pulse, but it was nowhere near the intense agony from before, and he knew without looking that there would be a line of neat sutures along the expanse of the gash. His entire body ached, muscles sore from the intense fighting of the last few days, the physical and mental exhaustion from pushing through on little more than pure adrenaline for so long weighing heavy on his lean frame.

He took a deep breath, wincing as the motion tugged at his stitches, and exhaled through his nose, funneling the pain into a manageable ball tucked away from his conscious reality. Closing his eyes, he shifted to his troll form in a flash of green, body lengthening and skin hardening. His bandages stretched but did not tear, and he could feel the wound etched into his thick troll hide the same as though it were his tender human skin. He felt his fatigue less in this form--though, since he had actually been fighting as a troll when he was injured, his wounds he felt far more acutely.

Keen ears picked up the sound of footsteps on the stairs and he slipped back into his human guise, his intention of slipping from the house unnoticed forfeit as the bedroom door opened a crack to reveal a pair of worried blue eyes peering at him. "Walt?" Barbara asked softly, opening the door wider when she saw him sitting up in bed and blinking back at her. "How are you feeling?" She crossed over to sit at the foot of the bed, leaning forward to peer into his eyes and prod his side.

"The honest answer," he intoned drolly, "or the one you're expecting to hear?"

She snickered. "Well, we both know that 'I'm fine' would be a blatant lie, so let's go with the honest one, shall we?" Her gaze turned stern. "I believe we've both had enough of lies anyway, wouldn't you agree?"

"You must understand, Barbara," he murmured, acknowledging her statement with a slight nod of his head, "that I am countless centuries old. I was weaned on lies and deceit, taught that the only way to survive was to fend for myself and protect my interests from any and all who might interfere." He shifted in the bed, folding his hands in his lap and staring pensively at them. "It is hard," he confessed, lifting his eyes to meet hers, the intensity in his green gaze making her heart jump into her chest, "for me to so easily forget a lifetime of deception and self-interest. But for you, I wish to try." His fingers clenched into a fist. "To answer your question," he finally replied, meeting her inquisitive stare with a hard gaze, "I am exhausted and in quite a bit of pain, but feeling remarkably better than I did the last time we spoke."

Barbara let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. "Good. I-that's great," she murmured shakily, pushing her glasses up her nose. The passion in his words left her with a strange feeling of anticipation, as though this conversation had them perched at a crossroads with every foreseeable future spread out before them. Her hand dove in without warning to pull back his bandages, prodding the seam of his stiches as she ignored his protesting hiss to examine the state of his injury. "I was worried my stitches might not hold as well with you being…you, but you seem to be healing far faster than I would have thought possible." Her eyes flashed back to meet his. "I assume that is due in part to your Changeling nature?"

He nodded in acquiescence.

She appeared hesitant for a moment, a question very obviously burning the tip of her tongue. "How-are you-did you-?." She gave a self-deprecating laugh, running her hand self-consciously through her hair. "Listen to me stutter. I must seem so young and foolish to you."

His hand snaked out to catch hers, fingers wrapping gently around her wrist and thumb stroking gently along her. "Never," he replied, green eyes _burning_ , and she stifled a gasp at the whorl of emotions contained within his gaze. "Never, Barbara."

  
She blushed, a becoming flush spreading along her neck. She took a deep breath, collecting her bearings. "How are you still human?" she finally asked, flipping their hands and giving his a squeeze. "I thought when Jim explained everything to me he said you were only human as long as your familiar remained in the Darklands."

Walter gave her a lazy, self-satisfied smirk, some of his confidence returning as his free hand rose to the amulet hanging around his neck. "When I left after…" he gave a light cough, "after we were injured, I devoted a great deal of time researching how to bring Gunmar to ruin once and for all. I am not a fool--I am no friend of Trollmarket, and the loss of my familiar would condemn me to the form of a people who have no need of me and would as soon kill me as look at me. I have not spent so many years fighting to survive to just let it all fall away. I expected to die in the fight against Gunmar, but if I didn't…well, I wanted a contingency plan."

He breathed deeply through his nose. "You must understand, Barbara," he beseeched, "I have always felt far more accepted as a human. Any way I could find to maintain a link to the human world, just in case I did make it through…So, I researched, and found this amulet. If I could get to my familiar and recite the correct incantation, I could establish a new bond that would survive the dissolution of the original link." He held up his hand to forestall the question that had jumped to the front of her lips, "At no cost or risk to my familiar." He circled one long finger around the stone at his neck. "So long as I have this amulet, I may shift between forms at my discretion."

"May I see?"

"What?" Her softly-spoken request took him completely by surprise. He had not imagined, never once thought that she might ask to see his natural form.

Her hand reached out to his face, caressing his cheek and smoothing up to his furrowed brow. "Please, Walt?"

With a sigh, he closed his eyes and _shifted_ , waiting with resignation for the gasp of horror and accompanying look of disgust.

They never came.

He opened gleaming yellow eyes, meeting her curious gaze with a look of trepidation. "This," he said with a catch in his deep voice, "this is me."

Leaning forward, Barbara traced the curve of his jaw, hand jumping down to trail curiously along his neck and down across his chest. He twitched at her touch, flinching back as if expecting her to strike. This form had seldom known a friendly touch, and _never_  a human one. Her hand ghosted along his torso, trailing gently across the linen of his bandage and finally curling around his side. "You're amazing," she declared, looking up at him shyly, biting her lip.

His eyes flashed. "Amazing?" The word was a disbelieving growl. "Your interpretation of the word appears to be much different than that of most, my dear."

"But it's true," she insisted, thumb stroking across his uninjured ribs and eliciting a shudder. "Human or troll, Walter, you are still _you_. And," she leaned in, her other hand curving around his shoulder, face impossibly close "I happen to be rather fond of you, no matter what form you take." She pressed a light kiss to his cheek, watching with amusement as a dark purple flush spread across his cool flesh.

His hands raised, hovered hesitantly in the air for a moment, then settled around her back, drawing her gingerly into his embrace. She nestled into his side with a sigh, careful to avoid the collar of knives at his neck (and wasn't that garment a question for another day). "What we had before," she ventured, lips tickling his stony collarbone, head tucked under his chin, "it was real, wasn't it." It wasn't a question, and his blood froze in his veins as he waited for the inevitable rejection. "You claimed to be lying, but all along, you meant every bit of it."

She felt him tense beneath her, limbs turning to literal stone as he nodded slowly, his head bowing with the weight of his confession. "I did," he breathed. "I do."

Barbara drew back slightly, and Walter was startled to note the emotion swimming in her eyes. "Good," she breathed, and suddenly Walter could not help it, shifting back to his human guise with a flash. He took her properly in his arms, one around her waist and the other at her shoulders, pulling her into his lap and bringing his mouth down to meet hers. Her lips parted beneath his as she gasped in surprise. He started to draw back, an apology already forming, shame creeping upon him like a dark demon slithering up from the depths, but then her arms slid behind his head, one hand curling around his neck, the other burying itself in his thick hair, her lips chasing his retreat as she returned his embrace.

Walter groaned into her mouth, his broad hands spanning the expanse of her back as he pressed her to him. She was a balm to soothe his every ache, an oasis to his desolate desert. He drew her lower lip between his, sucking gently before giving a gentle nip, soothing the spot with a swipe of his tongue before returning his attentions to her mouth.

Barbara gave a soft, breathy whimper, sinking fully into the kiss, her brain overloading with sensation as Walter took everything she offered him from their embrace. His hands slid up and down her back, thumbs caressing her sides, before slipping under her shirt and up along bare skin. She gasped at the touch of his cool skin against hers, and Walter seized the opportunity and slid his tongue in her mouth, tracing the line of her teeth.

Her hands slid into his hair, tugging lightly at the thick white strands ad the base of his neck. Barbara opened her eyes, her brilliant blue irises nearly obscured by her blown pupils. She ran her nails across Walter's scalp and he _growled_ , his eyes opening and flashing amber, heavy-lidded with desire. "Barbara," his voice was low, rumbling against her throat as he turned his attentions there, teeth nipping at the juncture of her neck and jaw.

Whining as he soothed the spot with a stroke of his tongue, Barbara let her hands slide down to rest upon his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palms. Leaning up, she pressed a series of soft kisses to the line of his jaw, tongue flickering out to trace the lobe of his ear.

Walter threw his head back against the headboard and groaned, his hands slipping from her back to cradle her chin. "You know what I look like, what I really am," he murmured, breathing heavily and leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers, nose buried in her hair and lips just barely brushing her temple. "All the things I've done…"

Her hands rose to comb through his hair, mussing the brown strands at the base of his skull. "And all the things you have _yet_  to do, Walt," she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, eyelashes fluttering open. "Gunmar is dead--you have a choice. Whatever you have lived, whatever you have done, whatever you _believe_ , you are not _alone_  anymore." She pulled back slightly, meeting his rather stunned look with dazzling blue eyes. She pressed her thumb to his mouth, gently tracing the contour of his lower lip. "Whether you believe it or not, you are beautiful. You have been through so much, have experienced so many horrors." She raised a hand, forestalling his protests. "That does not erase your blame for what you have done, but you have the potential to be so much more, Walt. I see it--I saw it before I even knew who you were." She placed her palms flat against his cheeks, looking dead into his eyes. "This is your chance, Walter Strickler, to decide whether you are going to remain who you were, or whether you want to _choose_  who you want to be." Her lips quirked, a touch of humor flashing through her eyes. "I know which option I prefer."

Strickler could not think of a time he had been at a greater loss for words. To have Barbara here before him, in his arms and offering him his dreams, was everything he had never dared imagine he could have. His head reeled, hands shaking slightly as he brought them up to her shoulders. "I--" He blinked, shaking his head as though to clear it. He squeezed her shoulders, head bowed as he tried to process the vast wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. Ever so slowly, a slight smile crept across his face, a bright gleam shining in his eyes. "I choose you, Barbara." His hands slipped up to her face, one curling around her neck, the other cradling her jaw. "I choose you every time."

The sincerity and love in his voice would have brought her to her knees had she been standing, but as it was Barbara still found wave of heat coiling trough her, welling out from her core and coiling down to her toes, warming her with the intensity of the promise it held. "Well," she ventured, fingers playing with the amulet at his neck, nose brushing his, "you have me."

"Then I am the richest man in the world," he murmured, and leaned forward to catch her lips in another blistering kiss. There would have to be more conversation, he knew, further apologies and explanations and all the uncomfortable revelations that accompanied turning down a new path, but those were trials for another day. Here, now, he simply surrendered to the moment and, for the first time in a very long time, _lived_.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully not too trite of an ending there. I have eight bazillion things I want to write about these two, so any comments that can be offered regarding the characters or story would be most appreciated for me to build on later on down the line. 
> 
> That said, be on the lookout for more--I'm in love with this pairing and have the writing bug, so I'm sure I'll be sticking some more stories up fairly soon.
> 
> Cheers!


End file.
